Jarek activated the communicator. A faint click, then Cyrille’s voice, light and sharp.

  “You again? Damn, mystery man, you’re getting clingy.”

  “I need into a Gate.”

  A pause. Then, a low, incredulous laugh. “Oh, this is gonna be good. What’s the catch?”

  Jarek waited.

  She sighed, dragging out the silence. “You don’t show up on raid lists. No team records. No Guild rank. Either you’re a ghost, or you’re the worst Hunter I’ve ever met.”

  “Can you get me in or not?”

  Another pause. Then, amusement again. “Oh, I can. Question is, what’s in it for me?”

  “Cores? My kills?”

  A tsk. “Tempting, but no. You don’t loot bodies, remember? I want… research.”

  Jarek’s fingers tightened around the communicator. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not normal. And I like to know what I’m dealing with. So, I go with you. No negotiations.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d rather not see my newest investment end up as monster chow.”

  Jarek exhaled. “Fine.”

  Her voice shifted—teasing. “You still won’t give me your name? Alright then, Ghostfang.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Got a better one?”

  Silence.

  Her laugh was the last thing he heard before the line went dead.

  An hour later, Jarek found her at the Gate checkpoint, idly flipping a knife.

  “Took you long enough.” Her smirk dropped as her eyes landed on the blade at his hip.

  “Are you seriously carrying that in public?”

  Jarek tensed. “What?”

  She stepped closer, voice low. “That’s Dain Halvark’s blade, dumbass.”

  Jarek’s fingers tightened on the hilt.

  “If anyone else recognizes it, you’re dead.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Dain had been Predator-ranked. The son of an Apex Clan leader. The kind of kill that brought trouble.

  Jarek slid the blade beneath his coat, hiding the polished steel. Cyrille let out a dramatic breath.

  “See? You can take good advice when you try.”

  He ignored her, his attention locked on the Gate.

  It pulsed in the air—a jagged wound in reality, colors shifting between crimson and sickly green. Guild officers patrolled the perimeter, their black-and-gold armor reflecting neon floodlights.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  A merchant argued with a guard nearby. “Twenty percent tax? That’s robbery!”

  “Guilds maintain the Gates. You want access, you pay the fee.”

  Jarek barely had money for food. The Guilds? They turned Gene Cores into a billion-credit empire.

  He wasn’t here to make money.

  He was here to survive.

  Cyrille tapped her wristband against the scanner.

  ENTRY APPROVED.

  The Gate pulled them in.

  The world shifted.

  A pressure hit Jarek’s chest, his hunger slamming into him—a raw, gnawing need that nearly brought him to his knees.

  Not the creeping hunger he always felt. This was different. Louder.

  His fingers twitched toward his weapon. His body felt light, coiled tight. His hunger was reacting to the Gate itself.

  Why?

  He forced it down. Focused.

  The terrain stretched before them—jagged spires of stone, black rock veined with glowing blue light. The air was still, the mist thick and curling.

  Cyrille whistled low. “Damn. That’s a new one.”

  “Normal for a Gate?”

  Her grin was all teeth. “Not for you.”

  Jarek exhaled. This wasn’t the wasteland. Not the Safe Zone.

  This was a new world.

  His instincts flared.

  Shadows moved between the spires—low, fast, weaving through obstacles.

  Ravager Stalkers.

  They were bigger than he expected. Panther-sized, with long, fluid bodies. Their fur was bristling black, broken by bone-like armor. Hooked claws dug into the rock, giving them perfect control.

  And their eyes—pale silver, glowing in the dark.

  The Stalkers didn’t charge.

  They disappeared.

  Stalking.

  Jarek’s grip tightened.

  A blur from the left—

  Claws raked his shoulder.

  Pain—sharp, hot.

  Another hit—something slammed into his ribs.

  He stumbled. Movement in the mist—gone before he could react.

  His hunger spiked.

  Cyrille moved first.

  Her daggers flashed—three quick slashes. A snarl. Blood hit stone.

  Jarek barely had time to breathe before—

  A lunge from the right.

  He twisted—too slow.

  Claws ripped toward his throat.

  Jarek’s arm snapped up, the impact sent him crashing into the stone.

  They were fast. More coordinated. And he was fighting blind.

  Think.

  The darkness was killing his reaction time. He needed to force an opening.

  Cyrille flicked her wrist—a knife spun through the air.

  The Stalker jerked back—

  Jarek lunged.

  His body screamed, but he swung Dain’s blade in a brutal arc.

  CRACK.

  The beast collapsed. Blood splattered his hands.

  And then—

  Heat.

  The blood sank into his skin, igniting his veins. His vision blurred, then sharpened.

  [GENETIC INTEGRATION COMPLETE.]

  NEW MUTATION ACQUIRED: "STALKER’S SENSES."

  Enhanced Night Vision.

  Refined Motion Tracking.

  The mist no longer blinded him.

  Every muscle twitch, every ripple of motion—he saw it all.

  A Stalker lunged—Jarek twisted, its claws scraping past his ribs. His blade drove through its throat.

  Blood pooled. His hunger surged.

  Another Stalker.

  Claws raked across his shoulder—hot pain. His grip faltered, but he swung back.

  Steel met flesh. The beast shrieked, its body thrashing.

  He ducked, rolled, and—

  The others struck.

  One behind. One left. Both at once.

  Jarek turned—too slow.

  The first slammed into his side. The second bit deep into his leg.

  Pain burned. He staggered.

  Then—Cyrille.

  A sharp whistle.

  The Stalkers turned.

  Her daggers cut deep into the closest beast’s leg. It howled.

  Jarek’s blade came down, carving through bone.

  Three down.

  Two left.

  They circled him, smarter now. No reckless lunges. No easy counters.

  Jarek’s breaths came sharp. His leg throbbed. His ribs ached. Blood—his and theirs—slicked his hands.

  The last Stalker lowered itself, muscles coiled tight.

  A final, all-in lunge.

  Cyrille’s voice cut through the mist. “You got it?”

  Jarek didn’t answer.

  His body buzzed. His hunger roared.

  Then—

  It moved.

  Jarek saw it all.

  The muscle tension. The weight shift. The exact angle of the leap.

  And he moved first.

  Sidestepped. The beast soared past him—completely open.

  His blade came down hard.

  A clean, lethal strike.

  The Stalker hit the ground, shuddered once—then went still.

  And the blood hit his skin—

  His veins burned.

  The power didn’t just expand his senses.

  It merged.

  [GENETIC INTEGRATION COMPLETE.]

  MUTATION UPGRADED: "STALKER’S SENSES" → "PHANTOM REFLEX (PHASE 2)."

  Reaction Speed +90%.

  Movement Prediction Perfected.

  Night Vision Integrated.

  Combat Flow Refined.

  Cyrille wiped blood off her dagger. “Okay. That was actually impressive.”

  Jarek ignored her.

  A deep, rumbling growl echoed through the mist.

  Two golden eyes pierced the fog, unblinking and hungry.

  The Alpha Ravager.

  It had seen everything.

  The mist quivered—death slipping through its folds, silent and inevitable.